


A Cantata of Fire

by Doublehex



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, This is Tyrant Dany, This is not Dark Dany
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-21
Updated: 2019-05-21
Packaged: 2020-03-08 20:30:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18902095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doublehex/pseuds/Doublehex
Summary: The Great Fire burnt through King's Landing. It burnt through hundreds of thousands. But still, Daenerys will rule. And Jon will be at her side, as husband, as lover, as a hostage king.





	A Cantata of Fire

**Author's Note:**

> Spite is a wonderful motivator. D&D wants me to hate Daenerys Targaryen. They want me to accept the bullshit that they call the last few episodes. They think I will accept that Daenerys went mad, that her character was evil all along, that I was wrong to root for her. I say, if they want to present a tyrannical Daenerys Stormborn, I will write of her, and I will do so gladly.

I.

There was nothing but ash in King’s Landing.

The ashes of the dead. The ashes of the city. The ashes of horses and dogs. The ashes of everything they have fought for.

Jon ascends the steps. _The dream is dead_. The thought almost broke him. He fell against the wall, his shoulder slumped. Tears crested his face. _The dream is dead._ The words repeated in his mind a hundred time, just as loud and shattering as the chimes of that bell. “End the siege,” Tyrion Lannister had said, “should the bell toll. They have surrendered.” She had agreed. She had _agreed._

She is not her father’s daughter. She is not. Jon knew that. He still did. Even as he looked below what remained of King’s Landing, he knew it. Was he blind? Were her ambitions tempered by those around her? _In her place, would I have been less?_ Jon did not know. He never would.

Jon climbed the steps. The Red Keep was a ruin. Nothing but shards of steel and pillars of black stone remained. The walls were twisted, the stone melted, dripping black sulfur. The stench choked in Jon’s lungs. Was that the stone or the dead? Jon fell to the ground, tears cascading his face. The Unsullied looked on. They said nothing.

In his blurred vision, he could see it. The Iron Throne. It was just beyond him. A hundred more steps, and he would be there.

She would be there.

Jon climbed the steps.

The sky ruled above the Iron Throne. The walls had twisted and turned like crooked fingers, arching over the seat. The thousand thousand swords of Aegon the Conqueror stood untouched. Daenerys almost looked small, looming hundreds of feet over Jon. Drogon was hunched at her side. He raised his head, and Jon found his reflection, eyes as black as coals staring back.

“You have come.” Even so far away, so far above him, Jon could hear her.

“Dany,” was all Jon had the strength to say.

“Her Grace,” came her reply. “That is the appropriate title for your monarch. What are you, I wonder? I was content once to name you King Consort. King-in-the-North? No longer, not so long as I am Queen. Warden of the North, mayhaps?”

He stepped forward. Drogon growled, his black teeth glaring. But Daenerys raised her hand, and the dragon was stilled. “Why?”

“Why?” She spoke the question as if it was obvious. As if murdering hundreds of thousands was acceptable. As if one could expect no less from Daenerys Targaryen. As if the woman who saved the world from monsters was a monstress herself. She rose from her seat and took her steps. The sound of her boots descending the metal echoed. “Because it was necessary. So long as they looked on me with hate, only fear would still them. The kingdoms have been ruled by malice for too long. They must be stilled.”

Lies. He heard nothing but lies. This was not Dany. Not the girl with violet eyes that believed in a better world. Not the woman that loved a bastard. But it was the woman that feared for her life. She begged him, that strong woman, she begged him not to tell, or her life was forfeit, and he did it anyway. _I betrayed and was betrayed in turn._

“You are silent, Jon Snow. Or Aegon. I am uncertain what the truth is.”

“What is the truth compared to all this?”

She was halfway down the Iron Throne. Her gloved hands trailed the blades of the Iron Throne. Jon looked for any cuts or wounds. He saw none. Relief and fear filled him. _She is safe. The Throne has chosen her._ “I am Queen. That is the truth. One of the truths that matter.”

“And the other?”

She had descended the Iron Throne. She approached him, her violet eyes staring into his grey ones. Bright and cold, light and dark, man and woman, queen and servant. “That from the beginning we were joined. I can never forgive you for the betrayal. I trusted you. My heart was laid bare and you scorned me.”

“Sansa was my sister,” Jon said. “I thought I could trust her.”

“How wrong you were.” She circled around him. Jon’s eyes followed her. His grip on Longclaw was as clad as iron. “A man ignorant in schemes thought himself wiser than a woman who has dined on betrayal all too well. All my life, truly. Betrayal and grief were the courses that sustained me. A word, and I would have my vengeance. A single word, and the gods would cast you down. For betrayal.”

“Then say it.” The words came out in a growl. “Why wait?”

Daenerys looked down at Longclaw. “Because you have questions. I see it in your face. You think I betrayed you. Betrayed everything we believed in.”

“You did.”

She smiled, a half smile. “No, I was honest. The realm must learn that Robert’s Rebellion will never happen again. _Never_. The Iron Throne shall never again be seated upon by a tyrant. Your sword is unbloodied, Jon Snow. Do you wish to correct that?” Her hand took hold of the blade. She raised it up, right to her throat. “One swift strike, and I am done. But not here.” She lowered the blade, right down to her stomach. “One strike for the both of us. For the two you hold most dear in all the world.”

Two, two, two. Jon felt more tears run down his cheek, soak up in his beard. “Two. Lives.”

She nodded. “The same. You were right, Jon Snow. The witch lied.”

Longclaw fell to the ground. Jon fell to his knees. He wept. He buried his head against Daenerys’ belly. Her gloved hand swept through his hair. He could not hear what she said, if anything, over himself. The world was bellowing in his ears. “Hush, nephew, hush. You have proven your loyalty. I forgive you. Hush.” Jon wrapped his arms around Daenerys. He kept her close.

Drogon thundered, flapped his leathery wings. Jon turned his head. Arya stepped out of the shadows beneath the Iron Throne. She was covered in blood and dirt and ash. A bloody streak sliced across his face. Jon would never forgive himself is she came to harm. But even worse if his child met such a fate. “Get away from her,” Arya said.

The dragon let out a roar that could have cracked the world. “He will not,” Daenerys Targaryen said. Jon found the strength to rise to his feet. “He will not allow the mother of his child to be harmed.”

There was fire in Arya’s grey eyes. But that fire faded. Needle, which was so focused on Daenerys’ heart, faltered. “What?”

“It’s true.” Jon’s voice was low, the resilience in it breaking. “My child grows in her womb.” His hand fell on her stomach. “I could not kill my child. Perhaps Arya Stark could kill her niece or nehphew.”

Arya’s breath grew faster and faster. Her eyes looked between Jon and Daenerys. “She murdered hundreds of thousands of people.”

“And you would murder an unborn babe,” answered Daenerys. “They are gone. A hope for new kingdom still stands. Would you wipe them both out with a single strike of your sword? The same sword your brother gave you? The same brother who is father to my child?”

Arya’s hand shook. Needle was soft in her grip. There was nothing but fear and doubt in her eyes. Then Needle fell to the ground. Arya followed. She let out a single scream, unending, reaching beyond the desecrated roof. Tears filled her eyes, fell off of her face.

Drogon looked at her with his dark eyes. Daenerys was silent for a time. Jon looked at her. “Dany,” he said. “Don’t. My family…has supped on enough grief.”

“I am the only family you have.”

“Lyanna Stark married Rhaegar Targaryen. By marriage, she is your cousin.”

Daenerys Targaryen pursed her lip. Then she raised her hand. Drogon growled one last time before he turned away. He curled his wings around himself and laid down his head. One black eye focused ont hem both. “The Starks live. But Arya Stark, send a message to your sister. The one that meant to destroy the bond between the Targaryens. The one that hoped to have Aegon ruling over my bones. Tell her that the North is part of the Seven. Tell her that Aegon and I are wed.” Jon looked at her. She looked back. “Tonight. She may bare witness. I hope the godswood survived.”

 

II.

 

“Drogon was always filled with fury.” The Queen looked outside the balcony. A soft wind slipped into the room. Dany rested her hand on her swollen stomach. The waves crested upon Dragonstone. Besides the thin silk of the robe, she was bare. Jon looked up from the bed. “He always fought me. Loved me, but he fought me. Love and hate must have been etched into his soul. He killed a girl in Meereen. I cannot even remember her name, but I remember the grief. Drogon was…he was me. And wasn’t. Never the blood of innocents, I swore. But Drogon spilled it because he could. That is what was etched into my soul that day. I could spill their blood. Let them know the same fear I had feasted upon. The grief that had consumed me. Dany would never do that. Not the Breaker of Chains. But the Conqueror would. I was so many things that day. Sleep and food were deprived of me. Varys ensured that.”

“I remember,” Jon said. “When I found out what he had attempted, I sliced his throat.”

There was the smallest hint of a smile on her face. “The Unsullied brought him in, forced him to his knees. I will always remember that moment, Jon. ‘In the name of Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, I, Jon Snow, Warden of the North, sentence you to die.’ You killed for your queen.”

“I killed for the woman I loved.”

She turned to face him. “Actions taken are hollow with words unspoken. Is that why I did it? Because it was not enough to be their queen. I had to make the people know who I was. But before that moment…” Dany closed her eyes. Her hand was laid protectively on her womb. On their child. A son, they were certain. A king. “The blood of my enemies, not of the innocent. Why was I so certain that they were my enemies? I still don’t know. All I could think was fire and blood.

“Who made that choice? Daenerys…or Drogon?”

Jon had no answer.

The waves swept over the black shores of Dragonstone.

 

III.

 

Her son was born after a gentle summer storm. It would never match the storm that shattered the Targaryen fleet, the storm that gave Daenerys her namesake, but it was enough. Daenerys had to be Stormborn to live the life she had. Aegon would never suffer as she did.

He was a true Targaryen. Hair as white as the rays of starlight, and his eyes were a deep, dark indigo. She did not allow him to be washed when he was born. Daenerys, as light headed and weak as she was, wrapped him in a towel, and planted a kiss to his head. Her son. Her boy. The one thing she never thought she would have.

Daenerys cleaned him herself. She wiped away the blood, turning his cheeks clean. The boy roared and roared. He was a dragon, of that there could never be any doubt. She looked to Jon. His fingers were in her grasp the entire time. No doubt pain had flooded him, but her husband said nothing. It was her battle to fight, a war of life and death, a struggle for her son’s life. He could only bear witness. Jon’s grey eyes were like wet swords. His hand swept over Aegon’s head, parting the last traces of blood from his face. When he looked to Daenerys, he smiled.

_Do you see the woman you once knew? The queen you grew to love, not the one you came to dread? The one that fought monsters, not the one that joined them?_

Jon offered no answers. “He’s perfect.” His smile grew into a grin. They were surrounded by Dothraki servants and handmaidens. Daenerys allowed no son of Westeros into her home. In that moment, it was just her and Jon and Aegon. Their life given meaning and form.

“Aegon,” she told him. “After the Conqueror. As well as his father, who found worth in true family.”

Jon was silent. It had been years since he had spoken with any of his sisters. Daenerys had forced a betrothal between Arya Stark and Gendry Baratheon. She was still undecided on who to match Sansa with. Between Drogon, and the threat to Jon and their child, the North would never rally their banners. Daenerys would never threaten her husband, of course. He was hers, and she was his. But let the Starks think her worse than the Mad King. Fear and doubt could prove a powerful combination.

“Aegon,” he said after a time. “I hope you have more pride in your father, but are not as ferocious as your mother.”

Dany found herself smiling. “Children should be better than their forefathers. Learn from their mistakes, take lessons from their virtues. We have so much to teach them, Jon.”

“Them?”

Her smile grew with confidence. “There will be more.” Her finger slowly followed the trail of Aegon’s silvery hair. “Soon.”

Drogon’s screech pierced through the silence. The flapping of his leathery wings was heard. He was close. The bond between Daenerys and Drogon had only grown stronger in the year following the death of his siblings. Drogon was restless as Daenerys fought to bring Aegon into the world. As she screamed, so did he. She feared for what damage he could have caused. No innocent should need die because the Mother of Dragons was bringing new life into the world. In the future, they would prepare.

“I still remember him, at times.” Dany turned her gaze from the balcony back to her husband. “Rhaegal. We bonded so briefly, but at times I can almost sense him. His green scales, his golden eyes. How he almost wanted to bond with him. To know him.”

“He knew who you were,” Dany said. “Before either of us.”

“I was not as strong on him as you were with Drogon. But when I rode him, I still heard something scratch at the back of my mind. Perhaps he was trying to say something. And I knew he perished before I received the letter. There was an abyss in me, gnawing and growing. Drogon knew what you wanted, and he gave it.”

“Did he?” That day…she wanted it pushed out of her mind. But there were still nights she awoke from the terrors. She remembered the choking ash, the pillars of smoke and green, the people, the screams. Would she ever want that? “No one dares challenge us now.”

Jon rubbed his thumb against Aegon’s cheek, smearing some of the blood off. “Do not be so certain of that, Your Grace. Daggers in the dark.”

“They did not murder you because of fear, Jon. They murdered you because they feared the world you were making.”

“The difference is not as big as you think, Dany. You needed not rule with fear in Meereen. It was not by an iron gauntlet that forced your actions across the Narrow Sea.”

“I knew not the people.”

“And is Westeros so different?”

Dany did not look to Jon. Her eyes were for Aegon, and Aegon alone. “You will rule in my stead, while I recover. Grey Worm shall ensure no treacheries.”

That had hurt him. She could see the betrayal on his face. It lasted for only a moment, but it was there. She had forgiven, but not forgotten. She drew breath, but only because of Aegon growing within. Jon would have slain her if not. _Earn my trust. You have my love. Reach out._

“What would you have of me?”

“Rule. Keep our family safe. Do try to ensure a rebellion is not formed. The lords are restless. The Iron Queen, they name me in their cups.”

“They have reason to.”

“And that reason keeps our family safe. Do not forget that, Aegon. A threat to the realm is a threat to our family. Do not forget your father. Do not forget Elia Martell and her children. “

 

IV.

 

It is a strange thing, to impact the realm with just a few simple words. Let a man wield a sword, let him feel the weight of it in his hands, let him know that there is a cost to his action. You cannot hide away from ending a man’s life. Even from atop Drogon, Daenerys had to bear witness to death by dragonfire. There was a weight to every action.

But as he stood in the council chamber, heard the washing of the waves on the shores of Dragonstone, Jon could only feel at ill ease. He did not know these men. They were not men Jon had fought beside. These were not men he had come to know or trust. Tyrion was exiled across the Narrow Sea without his wealth or privilege, Davos forced to retire at Cape Wrath, Tormund has never ventured south beyond the ruins of the Wall, and Samwell was never permitted to leave Horn Hill. Jon looked around him…and they were the Queen’s men.

When Daenerys Targaryen ruled, men bowed their head and said how wisely Her Grace had spoken. _Am I the only one that opposes her? Is the kingdom ruled from the marriage bed, instead of the council chamber?_

The only one Jon knew in that room was Grey Worm and he…had never been the same. The Grey Worm that Jon had known died when Missandei was murdered in chains. Daenerys had made him her Master of War, the commander of all her forces, the iron fist that she ruled from Oldtown to the edges of the Wall. These other men were boot lickers and nothing more.

In a room of fifty men, Jon was alone.

Every motion was met with debate. Fifty voices, fifty men and women that all wanted their say. The only voice that mattered was that of Daenerys Targaryen. She was queen. Her voice was the only one that mattered. There may be men from the merchant class among this council, men that were guild masters or masons, men who had been nothing but squires their entire life, but all of them were just noise.

Jon sat in the chair of stone, his fingers tapping on the carved arm. It was in the shape of a dragon’s head, snarling. At who? _At everyone. At all of you. None of you are dragons. None except for whomever sits in this chair? And who did the dragon eat? Everyone._

An old man pounded his iron staff into the floor. The sound echoed. “Council,” he rasped, “is dismissed!”

Ten Unsullied followed Jon out of the chamber. They were always there. Watching. Daenerys did not lie. She had forgiven, but had not forgotten. Grey Worm marched past, a few of his Unsullied close behind. “Grey Worm.” The man turned to face Jon. “How much longer?”

Grey Worm’s face could not be read. “Until Her Grace knows you can be trusted.”

“I am father to her son.”

“Conceived when she had your trust.” Grey Worm took another step. “You are a hostage king, Jon Snow. Earn it.” Then Grey Worm marched away from him.

 _A hostage king_. The word stormed inside of his head. That is what he had become, hadn’t it? He had no power, no influence, bound to the queen that murdered hundreds of thousands. Her or her dragon. Did it matter? _Of course it mattered_ , a voice said. _If it was her dragon, she is innocent._ Daenerys still ruled on the bones of the fallen. On the bones of children.

But hasn’t every king? Robert Baratheon stepped over the corpse of Jon’s brother and sister to the Iron Throne. And that was something he did willingly. That day, that great fire, that could have been all of Drogon’s and Daenerys’ rage and fury and rage merged together. Where did the rider end and the dragon begin? Jon could not find an answer for that.

Jon had to see his son.

Daenerys was comfortable in bed. Aegon was nestled on her chest, and her hands were curled through his silvery hair. She had just fed him, her gown unbuttoned. The Unsullied opened the door, and the Dothraki handmaidens bowed their heads in his approach. “Daenerys.”

She raised her head. “Jon.” She actually managed a smile. “How were the children?”

Jon actually found the will to smile at that. He threw off his belt and dropped it on the floor. “Fifty men all wanting different things. Noise, that’s all it was.”

“Good. That is exactly what I want. Let them make their noise. They are small men, Jon. We cannot trust small men to lead us to a better world.”

Jon made his way to the bed. He leaned against one of the pillars. A dragon snaked around the post, its claws digging into the wood. “And what are we, if not men?”

“Great ones.” Confidence colored her every word. “Someday, our children will not need to rule. They will be able to appoint men of worth to the council. But that day has not come. And until then, the only voice that matters are mine.” Her touched his. “And yours.”

Pretty words. Pretty, but hollow and rotten. “Hostage king they name me. How much value can my voice hold?”

Daenerys almost looked amused by that. “You call yourself a hostage king? Then give me reason to cut you out of your bonds.” She leaned down and kissed Aegon. “You have given me an heir. Our marriage ensures the North will never betray us. Go.”

“What?”

“You heard me. Go. Run. Be free. Don’t look at Dragonstone ever again. Do not think of me ever again, do not think of Drogon or the crown or your son. Let your heart be free.”

Leave her? Leave his son, leave his family? Jon could only look. Did she know so little of him? “No.”

“No,” she said. “No. What is it you want, Jon Snow?”

Jon curled and released his burnt hand. Maester Aemon’s words came back into his mind. _Love is the death of duty, Jon Snow_. Daenerys was not her father. But she ruled far more harshly than he ever did. But Others take his soul, he still loved her. When she smiled, it was Dany. As she kissed Aegon, it was Dany. When she talked of smallfolk reforms, it was Dany. But her better world was built on the bones of thousands. Even if it was never her choice, even if it was Drogon, the restoration of House Targaryen came at the cost of so many dead.

He should turn away from her.

But his soul must be damned, because he couldn’t.

“To be here,” Jon said. “At your side. To see a better world.”

Dany smiled. Then she made enough room on the bed for Jon. He forced off his boots and crawled in with her.

 

V.

 

“A beast has been found on the shores, Your Grace.”

Daenerys was flustered. She had good reason to be. Jon was in the middle of bedding her when Grey Worm asked permission for entry. “A beast?” Dany asked. The covers had been pulled all the way up to her neck. “Why would I be concerned about such a thing?”

Grey Worm looked to Jon. “Because it is his.”

For a single moment, Jon could say nothing. “Ghost?” he managed to say. “But I left him—”

“I know the beast,” the Master of War said. “It is your wolf.”

And indeed it was. Jon saw him from the steps of the castle, that white wolf as large as a small horse. Seaweed was wrapped around one of his paws. Jon found himself half running, half walking down the twisted steps of the castle. One hand on the stone rails to keep himself steady. When he managed to make it to the beach, Ghost was surrounded by Unsullied, spears lowered and shields raised. “Put down your weapons!” Jon barreled his way through them. Jon grabbed a spear by the shaft and forced it down. “I said, put down your spears.” He looked at Ghost. He got onto his knees. “Hey boy.”

Ghost wasted not a moment rushing up to Jon. His nuzzle was in Jon’s face, his soft fur tickling his neck and shoulder. He kissed Jon with a rough tongue. Jon could only laugh. “I missed you boy. How did you come all this way? I thought you belonged in the North.” Jon ruffled the wolf’s one good ear. There were still scars on him. Those would never heal, he supposed. The wolf was of the north. Fur as white as snow, eyes as crimson as….

 _As dragonflame._ The realization came to him suddenly, like a slap to the face. Jon found himself smiling. “Come on,” he said, rising to his feet. “There is someone I want you to meet.”

Daenerys was not so easily convinced. “ _No._ ”

“Dany. You can’t—”

“I said no, Jon. Are you so blind? You think I would have any trace of the Starks in my household? Around _our_ son?” She stabbed a finger into his chest. “Your cousins betrayed us, or have you forgotten?”

That was the one thing Jon could never forget. Dany loved to mention the treachery of wolves. “He is my wolf, not my sisters. And if you want all traces of the Starks thrown out, then start with me. I was raised by Lord Eddard, had named his children brothers and sisters for all my life. Or have you forgotten?”

“No,” she said, “I have not forgotten. The one grace I can extend to the Starks is how they kept you safe so we could be united. That, and nothing else. But if you expect—”

Jon found himself turning his head. “Dany.”

“I am _not_ finished, Jon.”

Jon gritted his teeth. “ _Dany_. Look.” He put stern hands on her shoulders and twisted.

Ghost had wrapped himself around Aegon. The little babe was oblivious. The beast could have ripped his clean head off if he wanted to, but there was not even the suggestion of it. His head was curled around the babe, one paw laid over the other. One eye was closed, one eye open in vigil.

Dany looked on in breathless wonder. She closed her mouth, took a tentative step, and raised her hand towards the beast. “He is your master’s blood, isn’t he?” Ghost brushed his head against her hand. She turned to face Jon. “You are right. Do not think this will be a common occurrence, Jon Snow. But you were right. This wolf, at least, knows loyalty.”

 

VI.

 

Ghost had brought something out of Daenerys Stormborn. Jon was not quite so certain as to what, but it was something. The wolf was her constant shadow it would seem. Her’s or Jon’s or Aegon’s. It was a rare day when the direwolf was prowling on its own, stalking the dark halls of Dragonstone. When Daenerys ruled over the court, Ghost was there at her side, her fingers almost always scratching at his head. He looked over Aegon as he crawled. He was at Jon’s side when he would be alone, watching the waves crest over the shores of the island.

Daenerys was softer when Ghost was around. Jon knew he would find her in an agreeable mood when Ghost laid his head on her lap. “How is your cousin?” Daenerys asked him one day. “Arya. The one you loved to speak so much about.”

That took Jon by surprise. The only time Daenerys liked to mention either of his sisters was when she went about their treacheries. “Well,” she said. “I think. We haven’t seen each other since—”

“The day we were wed. I remember.” She scratched at Ghost. “Perhaps that should change. The Stormlands were the first to rise up against our family. Let us…placate them some. Ensure that never happens.”

“Gendry is loyal,” Jon said. “You raised him up to be Lord of Storm’s End.”

Dany did not look up to Jon. Her focus was entirely on Ghost. “We both know that Gendry is not the one that rules from Storm’s End. Your sister has him tied around her finger. Of that I have no doubt.”

“Are we so different?”

Dany smiled. “No. Still, it would be good for Lady Arya to meet her nephew. To meet her king. Our families are bounded by blood, after all. A reunion would be good. For all of us.” Ghost whined in approval.

It would be several months for the Lord and Lady Baratheon to arrive at Storm’s End. Jon felt his insides had become a storm. All he could think about was his little sister. What did she look like? How had she settled in as a lady? What were the people like? _Do you recognize me? Do you see me in Aegon? Is Daenerys good?_

Daenerys had plenty of ways to distract Jon. There would be a few days when she would have him oversee the council. A few days, but rare. More often than not, she bedded him. “I want another,” she would tell him as she rode him, kissing his nose, his lips, his cheeks, his neck. “A prince, a princess, it matters not.”

Jon wondered when it was that he had become a broodmare. Others damn him, he enjoyed it. When he was inside of her, the world locked into reason. Everything made sense when it was him and her, two souls joined together, the hairs of their sex brushing against the other, their pants and moans converging into one. One body, two souls, him and her, the last of the dragons.

By the time House Baratheon arrived at Dragonstone, the joyous news had spread throughout the realm. The Queen was with child once more. The galley wielded two sails spun from silk and fifteen oars on each side. It would be an impressive tool of war, should it ever come to that. That was one of the Queen’s many demands. Each of the kingdoms must design and maintain an armada, to protect their shores and people from invaders and pirates. The golden crowned stag of Baratheon bellowed in the wind.

“You look nervous,” Daenerys said in her approach. She was not showing, not yet, but she placed her hands under her tummy in a protective gesture. The island pulled at her hair, tugged at her collar. But Daenerys seemed unphased by it all. She descended the stairs, her Dothraki handmaidens close behind. From the vantage point, Jon could see the Baratheon galley come closer and closer.

“I’m not.” He rolled his burnt hand into a fist.

“You are,” she said. She stepped behind him and placed her hand on his burnt one. “You always fist your hand when you are nervous.”

“Or angry.”

“Or excited,” she offered with a smile. “So, which is it? I know you are not angry. Gods know I have far more reason to be enraged by this than you.”

“It has been so long,” Jon finally said.

“Jon, it has only been a year.”

 _A year. Only a year. A year of love and hate and doubt and joy. A year like that could feel like an age._ Daenerys nudged her chin into his shoulder. Jon could not help but lean into her. The fearsome Dragon Queen was so fiercely intimate with her family. The lords bowed in fear of her, but they would be less likely to submit if they saw what she was like with her babe in her arms. “She has never seen her nephew.”

“Not just her nephew. Her future king.” She slid her fingers in the space between Jon’s. She kissed Jon on the cheek. “We should make our descent. It would not do for us to be late.”

Daenerys still made sure the Baratheons were on the beach before she and Jon arrived. A queen does not wait on her subjects. Still, Jon could see the irritation on Arya’s face. An irritation that melted as soon as she saw Jon. There was a smile then, and warmth in her eyes. She was dressed in a black and gold gown, her arms made bare. Arya looked like she was born for this. Gendry could not be further from the truth. The man should have died as a blacksmith, not as lord of Storm’s End.

But not all men could fulfill what they were born to be.

Lord and Lady Baratheon knelt. “Hail, to Your Graces.” Arya’s voice turned an icy tone.

But Daenerys seemed content to see the house that had once destroyed hers bow in respect. “Rise, Lady Baratheon. Dragonstone welcomes you.” Throughout the Seven Kingdoms, it was Gendry credited with ruling Storm’s End. But at Dragonstone, there were no lies. Everyone knew who commanded the lords of the Stormlands.

A fact that did not go unnoticed by Jon’s little sister. Her face was a still mask, but her eyes twinkled with satisfaction. She straightened her dress…and Jon saw what he saw. “Arya.”

Daenerys noticed as well. “House Baratheon grows. I kiss you.” She gave a cold and passive show of affection on Arya’s cheek.

“Gratitude, Your Grace.” Arya took a glance behind her. The men were still pulling in the trunks off of the galley. There was one peculiar package, a bundle of furs and velvets held close to a man’s chest. “Where is my nephew?”

Daenerys motioned behind her. She said something in Dothraki. One of the handmaidens stepped forth, and little Aegon was wiggling and squirming. “The picture of health, and the pride of the realm.”

Arya gave off half of a smile. “Good. Then my gift will not go to waste.”

Jon arched a brow. “Gift?”

Arya did not answer. She took the bundle of furs away from the servant, and pulled back, revealing a snout. “I have not seen Nymeria for many a year. But she has not forgotten me.” A pup’s head emerged, fur as dark as a night’s eye, but his eyes were golden and bright. “She found a mate. And this is one of her pups. A wolf for your son.”

Daenerys was caught somewhere between shock and caution. No doubt she was seeing this as some treacherous ploy. But Jon saw it as the good gesture that it was. He took the struggling bundle from his sister’s arms. “A generous gift. House Targaryen will not forget this. We must give…”

“Him,” Arya provided.

“Him a name.” Jon looked to his wife. “A _Valyrian_ name. Our son will never know a better protector. A true friend. He shall never know betrayal.”

Daenerys guarded her face. But she would not refuse the gift. Not after such an offering. “We shall consider a name worthy of him.”

Jon wondered whose idea it was – Lord  or Lady Baratheon. There is a more than satisfied look on Gendry’s face. Jon supposed it was his insistence. He was raised to Lord of Storm’s End. He owes much and more to the Queen. He would not see Daenerys in the same light as Arya.

He was not there at King’s Landing. He did not have to choose between securing justice for thousands or the life of one unborn babe.

His sister finds him in the halls, sometime after the servants start to unpack their luggage. She is quick and silent, as Jon remembered her to be. Years in the house of Black and White changed her. Not unnaturally so. There is still that smile, that glint in her eyes, and she still loved to have her hair ruffled and be called little sister.

Jon hears her when she wants to be heard. He gave her an embrace, and she gave it back, her face snuggled into his neck, and Jon is not ashamed how he lifts her slightly over the ground. He placed a gloved hand on her cheek. “It’s been too long, Arya.”

Arya only smiled back. She followed behind him. Jon doesn’t want to speak to her where servants can hear, where the Unsullied can bear witness. He wants it to be just him and her, but there so few places like that on Dragonstone. In Winterfell there was the godswood. Jon had hoped that Daenerys would find that place as calming and as soothing as he had…but his sisters never gave her the chance.

“Is it everything you wanted it to be?” She looked to him for clarity. “Being a lady. Commanding a keep. Being wed,” he said, a smile on his lips.

She shook her head, a smile spreading even further. “I love it,” she finally managed to say. “I always wanted to do as Father had done, as Robb was raised to do. I am making a difference. A real difference.” She leaned against the black walls. “But it is never credited to me. Whenever one of Gendry’s lords offer praises, it is to _him_. Never mind I am the one negotiating a resolution between conflicts. Never mind I am the one that rearranged the trade routes. Never mind I started construction on a second harbor so we can trade more freely with Essos. It’s not his fault. Gendry leaves everything in my hands. I sometimes even ask for my input, but he trusts me in everything.”

“I’m sorry,” Jon said, meaning every word. “Daenerys would never allow that to happen in her place. I don’t know what could be done. But small men will be small.”

Arya narrowed her grey eyes at him. “Small men? You sound like just how I imagine she would. Gods, Jon, I understand how there is nothing you could do about Aegon. But how can you lay with her to make a second?”

Jon cursed himself. Somehow he had walked right into a trap. “You don’t know her.”

“And do you blame me for that?”

There is cold fire in his eyes. “On some nights, yes, I do. She came to Winterfell risking everything. She had fought for the Iron Throne all her life. She risked it all to save everyone. And you didn’t even want to know her. You said she would never be one of you. What if you tried, Arya? Spoke to the woman who could very well be the reason we are still living? Maybe if she had someone at her side when it happened—”

“Don’t you dare lay the weight of what happened on me.”

“And I won’t lay it on her either. That day she…had not eaten in days, slept in days. Her advisor tried to poison her, but Sansa wanted…whatever it was Sansa wanted. She broke my trust that day, Arya. Committed treason twice over. And when you ride a dragon, it is not such a simple thing.”

“You rode a dragon,” Arya said. “And no one died at _your_ hands.”

Jon curled his burnt hand into a fist. “You don’t know what it’s like!” Arya took a few steps back, her eyes cast wide in shock. Or fear. Jon sucked in a breath, flexed his burnt hand again and again and again. “When I was atop Rhaegal, there was a war inside of me. A war I was winning all the time, but it was there all the same. I would not even need to consider it, and the dragon would take control. Burn, fire, rend and tear, that is what Rhaegal would do. And he was peaceful compared to Drogon. He was something much more than his brothers. More prideful, more hateful, violent, savage. Love and hate carved into his soul. That’s what Dany said. And her mind was so weak that day. Her soul was split and tattered.”

Arya was silent for a moment. She chewed on her lip, the same way she would as a little girl that didn’t quite know what to say or how to act. Finally, she looked up to Jon. “So, who was it that burned King’s Landing?”

Jon sucked in a breath. He leaned against the wall. “I don’t know.”

 

VII.

 

Aegon’s brother Daemon was born on a clear summer’s day. The seas were as bright as blue crystals, and Dany’s screams could be heard throughout the keep. Drogon roared in unison with his mother. They tried to keep him out. But Jon refused to be away from her, not when she had none other to rely on but herself. “Aegon,” she called out to him. She never called him that, except when she was angry with him or needed him. And she needed him. Jon gave her his hand, and she gripped so fiercely he could not feel his fingers. That’s fine. Jon could handle that pain. “If something happens—”

“Nothing will happen,” Jon promised, and he was right. It had not even turned to noon when Daemon’s screams split the world. He was black haired, grey eyed, beautiful and strong. With Aegon, it was Daenerys herself that washed him and cleaned him. But with Daemon, Jon ensured all of the blood was cleaned from him before he gently placed him in the arms of the queen. She gave the screaming babe a dozen swift kisses.

She was afraid Aegon would be alone, in all the ways she was. Now that would never happen.

“Daemon,” she told Jon. “I will name him Daemon.”

“That is a cursed name.”

“No longer,” she said with defiance. “No longer.” She kissed the babe once more.

 

VIII.

 

It did not take Dany long to recover. She must have been spirited by the birth of Daemon, the thrill of having two of her babes sucking off of her at once. Because she said something that almost convinced Jon that she was made.

“As soon as I am able, I want another child. We will not wait a day.”

Jon could not keep himself from shaking his head. He looked at Dany holding Aegon and Daemon close, each of their tiny fists locked into her chest, feeding with content. “We can delay. There is nothing to fear.”

“We shall not delay,” Dany said softly. “I love this. The conception, the feeling of life inside of me, the fight to bring them into the world. The joy of seeing them for the first time. House Targaryen must grow, Jon.” She looked at him with a devilish smirk on her face. “And we both must do our part. For the glory of House Targaryen.”

Jon wondered when it was that he had become Daenerys’ broodmare. The day after Maester Pylon said that Daenerys’ womb was ready to be filled with seed once more, he found her on their bed, as naked as the day she was born. She wore nothing to conceal herself. Her heavy breasts sagged on her chest, and the silvery hair between her legs glistened.

His wife, his queen, was nothing if not a seductress. “As you say,” Jon said, as he tore his clothes off of him. “We’ll make sure you are fat with babes at every opportunity.”

She smiled, a great and beautiful smile. “You deserve to be a father of many children, Jon. Just as I deserve to be a mother.”

“Oh,” he laughed, “of that I have no doubt.” He spread her legs and sucked on the folds of her sex. His right hand grabbed her breast, and she squealed. “But it will be on my terms.”

Dany, perplexed, raised her head off the bed. “Your terms? Is bedding me not enough for you?”

Jon narrowed his gaze. “No. You command all of the Seven Kingdoms, from Sunspear to the Wall. None dares question the might of the Dragon Queen. I respect and honor you in all things, as a husband should. But in here, I will be king.” He pulled her by the arm. “Up.” She yelped. He half dragged; half guided her to the wall. She seemed to know what she wanted. Dany spread her legs and placed her hands on the wall for balance. Jon felt her thighs, squeeze the meat of her buttocks. He admired the way her silver bush clung to her cunt.

Then he placed himself into her. Daenerys moaned in pleasure, and a groan slipped out of Jon’s tongue. Dany raised herself on her tiptoes. With every thrust, Jon would watch as Dany would shift the balls of her toes for balance and weight. He started slow, steady, savoring each taste of her.

But soon that was not enough. He pulled her up by the arms again, one hand cradling her chin, the other massaging her swollen breast. He went into her again and again. They lost balance, tumbling and tripping, right into the wall. Jon didn’t relent. He didn’t stop. Not until he felt his seed spill out from him, right into her cunt, right into her womb, right into the promise of new life. Jon kissed her, and she kissed back, spittle dripping down both of their chins. They stayed like that for a long time, falling to the ground, still connected, still one.

They did break apart for breath. Dany was nearly laughing. “Jon,” she said in half amazement. Her chest rose and fell with her breaths. He took a handful and rubbed his thumb over her nipple. He drew close enough to kiss. “I never knew.”

His member brushed against her thigh. She understood. Dany dropped down and brought it into her mouth. Jon wove his fingers into her hair, feeling the silvery waves. “From now on,” he said, “every morning, you will waken me. Just like this. And then I will spill myself inside of you. From now on, so long as you are in no danger of getting a chill, you will go to bed without clothes. And I will give you as many children as you desire, as many new sons and daughters of House Targaryen as you desire. Even when you are heavy with child, you will do this, until it hurts you too much. I will never see you in pain, Daenerys Targaryen. But in these chambers, I am your king. You may be the Iron Queen, but in here, I rule. Do you understand?”

Dany looked up at him. Her violet eyes were a purple fire. “Yes, My King,” she replied. Jon pulled her into a kiss.

Within the year, Aemon was born. He had Dany’s hair, but his eyes were the iron of Stark.

 

IX.

 

Three sons came first. Aegon, Daemon and Aemon. Daenerys would jest that she would never have a princess of her own, that the gods favored Jon with his three sons. But then came the girls, two beautiful twins, Rhaella and Daella. They were complete reflections of each other; Rhaella was silver haired, but her eyes were grey and iron, whereas Daella had the dark raven hair of her father and the violet eyes of her mother. They were the realm’s delight. They most certainly were the delight in Jon’s eyes. He held onto his girls every chance he could. They loved to hold onto his chest, even when they were little babes.

Arya kept on providing new direwolf pups for each new member of the family. Nymeria was busy, it seemed. They had ended up naming Aegon’s Balerion, after the mighty beast that the Conqueror rode on. Daemon was given amber furred Caraxes, Aemon the brown, and the girls were given two direwolves that were nearly alike, the silver tailed Cerrax and Terrax. The children were never apart from their most dutiful guardians. Even as babes, the pups would be laid in their cradles.

Ghost’s attention had become split over the years. Whereas before he had only three members of House Targaryen to watch over, he now had six. Dany felt for the poor beast. Ghost still had a long life ahead of him, but she could tell the years were just starting to take their toll. He mentored the young pups. Most of them fell into line. But Ceraxes was a stubborn little beast. It took quite some time before he learned the meaning of the word “No.”

Five children were given to House Targaryen. More would come. That was what Jon had promised her. And no son of Stark went back on his word.

 

X.

 

Dany’s fingers trailed the swelling of her belly. She was still breathing hard. Sweat trickled down her. Jon gave no quarter in the bedroom. And she would never have it. “Jon,” she said, excited. She grabbed his hand as quickly as she could. It took only a moment…then Jon felt the kick.

His grin could have melted the Wall. “Hello,” he said. He brought his face right down to her belly. Dany wove her fingers through his hair. “Hello,” he breathed into her flesh. “How are you?”

“Fine, hopefully.” Dany smiled. “The sixth of our children. He will not be lonely, that is for certain.”

Jon turned his head, his grey eyes looking up to her violet ones. “And what makes you so certain this one is a he?”

“Because the gods have cursed me with nothing but sons to vex me and please you to no end.”

Jon kissed her belly, right where his son’s fist was pounding. “Then I hope you are wrong. Three sons, three daughters.”

Indeed, Jon would prove the prophet. Daenerys allowed their daughter to be named Lyarra. After all, she completely took after her father in looks.

 

XI.

 

Aegon was seven when Dany first brought him to Drogon’s roost. It was a pillar of stone and wet rocks, slick with the waters of the sea. The path was black with ash and charred bones were scattered on the pathway. “Mama,” Aegon managed. “This frightens me.”

Dany only got onto her knees. She looked Aegon straight in the face. “Don’t be, sweetling. We are going to meet Drogon in his home. He has always come to us, remember? He has never hurt you, nor any of your bothers and sisters. Daemon would always put mounds of dirt and grass on his snout. Like this.” She flicked his little nose. Her love giggled. “Don’t you remember?”

“Yes,” he nodded.

“Then come. You have no reason to fear.” They made their ascent. Drogon’ shadow fell over them. For a moment, the day seemed to turn to night. The dragon crawled over the cliffs and the rocks, his claws gripping the wet stones, until he was facing them. He stared at them with eyes as black as coal. “Drogon, love. We have come to see your eggs.”

Aegon pulled on her hand. “Eggs? Mama, Drogon is the only dragon.”

“I know, my love, but dragons are not like other beasts.” The dragon flapped its great wings and flew off, permitting them entry into the cavern. “Dragons could mate with other dragons, but when times are desperate, they can mate with themselves. A fire only needs itself to spread, and that is what dragons are. Fire made flesh.”

What Daenerys had told Aegon was that Drogon had been trying to breed with himself ever since she had won the throne. Six children she and Jon have been blessed with. And in all that time, Drogon had laid dozens of misshapen, poorly conceived eggs. Not one has bore fruit. Every time Daenerys gave the mighty beast her sympathies. She grieved as mightily as he did. The dragons could not die with him. They should not die because of Cersei Lannister. Drogon would not give up. And neither would she.

There was a torch buried into the soft sand. Dany pulled it out, the black earth tumbling off of it. Some oil, a spark, and the flame rose up. “Come on,” Dany said to her boy. Her son found courage in her mother. He followed after her, his violet eyes trained ahead.

The path of the cavern snaked downwards. It was wide enough to fit three men at breast, but that didn’t stop Dany from keeping Aegon close. The boy did not disobey his mother. His violet eyes were drawn to the walls. They had such strange markings. Dany thought they were made by the First Men, but Jon was not quite so certain. Those were telling a story. These looked more like letters. Dany wondered if they were a form of Valyrian, one so much older than the one she knew and spoke.

The glow of the torch danced off of the eggs. Red and violet and blue and indigo, all of the colors flowed off of the scales of the egg. “These are dragon eggs, love.”

Aegon’s eyes grew wide in wonder. Dany wondered if she looked much the same when Illyrio Mopatis gave her his offering of the eggs. The eggs that would crack and tear and make her the Mother of Dragons.

Dany could feel fear growing in her throat. For nearly seven years now, Dany has come to this roost in the hopes that Drogon would not be the last dragon. And for nearly seven years, her hopes had been crushed. She stepped forward. _A dragon must not be afraid._

The first egg was hollow, its shell collapsed on itself. The second was misshapen. No dragon would ever hatch…or if it did, it would be stillborn, or blind with a missing set of lungs. She raised her torch towards the third egg. From this side—

She pulled on Daemon. “Mama, that hurts!” But Dany was acting more than thinking. She went around the egg, and she almost dropped the torch. The shell was completely whole. There were no bruises, no abrasions, no sinking of the scales. It was perfect, in all the ways that the eggs that Illyrio Mopatis gifted her were perfect.

Dany felt tears well up at her eyes. She knelt down and kissed Aegon on the cheek. “Aegon, one day that egg will hatch. And when it does, you will be it’s rider.” She kissed him one more time and wrapped her arm around his neck. _The dragons are not dead._

 

XII.

 

“Sansa writes she has a son by Thors Umber.” Jon glanced up from the letter to see if it caught Daenerys’ attention. But she was resting by the fire, her feet spread along the sofa. “His name is Rickard. Rickard Stark.”

“May he be more loyal than his mother.” Dany’s voice sounded strained and tired. “How are Arya’s boys?”

Jon rubbed at his nose. “Eddard and Robbar. You remember.”

“I do not.”

“You _do_ ,” Jon insisted. He had been wed to Daenerys long enough to know when she was being petty for the sake of it. And she was being petty. “You asked why Arya had not had another child by now. You asked perhaps her love for Gendry Baratheon was lacking. And I reminded you that most wives have no intention of having the number of their children go above three. Or have a pregnancy be a yearly occurrence.”

“Ah,” she said.

Jon nodded. “Yes. _Ah_. As for your question, they are well. Eddard finds great comfort in Ser Davos’ youngest, Steffon. They are only a few years apart, despite Ser Davos’ age. He looks up to the youngest Seaworth. Much like how Bran would look up to me and Bran, Arya wrote.”

“Our children only have each other.”

Jon sucked on his lip. He looked outside the massive balcony. The skies of Dragonstone had turned black and grey. A storm was coming. “There was once a time when you said that is all that was needed. King’s Landing had been restored for three years. You had established a new breed of maesters who bring education to the smallfolk – but you refuse to let any of our children attend these new academies. Maester Pylos sees to their education, by your demand.”

“I know,” she said, a fierceness creeping into her tone. “When I was a little girl, running in fear from one Free City to the next, I could at least always count on the other children. When Viserys wasn’t watching, at least. He loved to waste coppers on the whores of the city. My children don’t have companions. They only have each other.” She let out a heavy sigh. “That is not safe, for House Targaryen. They must know their people.”

A smile crept across Jon’s face. Those words reminded him so much of the Daenerys before the war. The queen that wanted to be a better one. “What inspired this?”

“It matters not. We should take in wards.”

“Wards,” Jon said with hesitance.

“Yes. Wards. You know the term. Their parents will never stop fearing us, but at least their children will love ours. Ensure that I will love them just as fiercely as my own. The love I have for our children is well known, is it not? Let’s put it into motion. Who knows…they just may feel honored instead of threatened.”

It would turn out to be both. Arya for her part was furious. She had proven her loyalty a dozen times. First when she didn’t kill Daenerys in the throne room, all the direwolf pups she gave to the Targaryen princes and princesses, the loyal tithes, all of it slapped in her face when Daenerys asked to house one of her boys. Arya relented, of course. She was just a vassal. She could not stand up to her queen.

The halls of Dragonstone were never lacking in the merriment of children, but that became only worse. Seven sons and daughters of Westeros came to call Dragonstone their home. Arianne Martell, a bastard daughter of Llewyn Martell that was raised up by Daenerys’ decree, sent her daughter Nymeria by one of the Dothraki bloodriders. Samwell offered up his third son, Aemon, for the twins in desperate need of a playmate. The Blackwoods offered their twins, Tytos and Katos, who took up to Aegon and Daemon right away. Their shenanigans gave Maester Pylos little room for rest. Yara Greyjoy sent her twin sons, Theon and Aelon, as well a daughter, Alys.

And all were welcomed by the Queen herself when they arrived the shores of Dragonstone. She kissed each child on each cheek, took them by the hand, dirtied her dress as she knelt down, and asked them who they were.

“Nymeria,” the heir to Sunspear said. She the sharp eyes of the Dothraki, but the rest of her features belonged only to the Princess of Sunspear.

“Aemon, if it pleases Your Grace,” answered Aemon Tarly with reluctance. Jon saw so much of Gilly in the boy, and so little of Sam. He would fit well in furs and leathers, instead of the soft clothes of a son of Horn Hill.

“It pleases me very much,” Daenerys had said, all motherly charm and love. “My boys need a friend your age, a companion loyal and true. Your father is a reserved man. I am certain you will do your best to keep my princes in line.”

Aemon, of course, answered that he would do his very best.

Daenerys knew that Tytos and Katos would be difficult from the start, but not in the bad way. Only in that they were too excited for their own good, and that they could keep the other from talking so they could speak. That was forgiven all too quickly, as the twins became inseparable from Aegon and Daemon. All too often Jon saw himself in the boys, as well as Robb, remembering the boldness of his brother when they were lads.

When Daenerys told Jon that Yara was sending them her twins, Jon could not help but jest that the realm seemed to be filled with twins. “We will have three sets of them in our castle.” Theon, Aelon and Alys were the friends that Jon’s daughters needed. They were warm, but quiet. All too often Jon would kiss them on the cheek and ask how their day had gone, and they would mumble an answer. The Greyjoy children brought out a fire in them.

It was Arya’s boy that was the last to arrive. A boy of five, Robbar was escorted by his Father onto the shores. Jon remembered how black Gendry’s hair looked, and how bold his blue eyes were. But gray had started to streak his hair, and wrinkles lined his face. Jon went up to Gendry and embraced him. He had hoped for something warmer than what he got. He looked at Jon as a king, not as the man that he had fought beside during the Long Night.

Daenerys cared less and little for Gendry. She was focused entirely on Robbar. “Robbar Baratheon. I welcome you to Dragonstone.”

Robbar did not know what to say at first. But he was nudged by his father, as softly as he could. “Hail, Your Grace.”

“Tell me, how was your journey?”

The boy swallowed. He looked up to her with wide eyes. “I miss my momma.”

Dany let out a sympathetic breath. “And you are so brave for coming here then. I never knew my momma. She died when I was born. We must all count our blessings in this life. But tell me, Robbar. How do you like beaches?”

Arya’s boy lit up. “I love beaches! I love to play in the sand and to play ball with my brother. His name is Eddard.”

“Well, Dragonstone has more beaches than anywhere. And they are quite unlike any sort of beaches I have ever seen. As dark as dragon’s bone, as black as night. I have never seen sand like that before, in all my travels. And I have traveled far.”

It was said that Daenerys Stormborn was the Mother of Monsters. She brought the Dothraki to Westeros, even though they never raped or pillaged under her command. The Unsullied had their souls sucked out of them. She was paranoid, it was said, trusting only in whispers and ghosts. Her king was a bastard who had no right to be the father of kings. Her heart was as cold as iron.

And in those lies, a twinkle of truth could be found. But a far greater truth was found when Daenerys spoke to children, to the future of Westeros. In those moments, Jon knew, was a queen that cared for the future of her people.  


End file.
